


Seven Minutes of Iwa-chan

by emigmatic



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), College Years, Drinking, Established Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Getting Together, Hanamaki Takahiro is a Little Shit, Happy Birthday Oikawa Tooru, Iwa gets a little handsy, Iwaizumi Hajime in Love, M/M, Making Out, Matsukawa Issei is So Done, Minor Kyoutani Kentarou/Yahaba Shigeru, Oikawa Tooru is a Mess, Oikawa doesn't mind in the least, Oikawa hates uno, Seven Minutes In Heaven Game, a hot mess if I do say so myself ahaha, card game shenanigans at the beginning, honestly writing this was my guilty pleasure but I also had no idea what I was doing RIP, idk if this counts as PWP but there's not a lot of plot and a whole lot of kissing so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:15:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25294546
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emigmatic/pseuds/emigmatic
Summary: Downing the rest of his drink and turning to face the group with a devilish glint in his eye, he gives the order he had been saving since the beginning. “Number one and number four have to do seven minutes of heaven.”Well, that certainly escalated quickly.There’s a light murmur in the room as everyone checks their sticks. Oikawa’s heart tightens as he realizes the number one stick is clenched in his palm. He forgets how to breathe when Iwaizumi holds up his own stick, a large number four written on the end in black sharpie.Or, the one in which Oikawa and Iwaizumi spend some quality time together in a too-small closet.
Relationships: Hanamaki Takahiro/Matsukawa Issei, Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru
Comments: 18
Kudos: 169





	Seven Minutes of Iwa-chan

**Author's Note:**

  * For [usamizuki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/usamizuki/gifts).



> uhhhhhh I've never written anything spicy before so don't shoot me if it isn't god tier. Although tbh it's nothing too spicy...idk  
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY OIKAWA!!! Look at me, actually finishing something on time for a birthday. (Actually, I finished this like four days ago and decided to save it so...)  
> This is a gift for Trisha! Thanks for reading all of my stories and being so supportive! Love you lots, mwah  
> (And, thanks again to Cam, my blessed beta reader who sticks around even if I send her dumb math memes. She's a real one.)

“Iwa-chan, that is so MEAN!” Oikawa Tooru whines for the nth time that night, slamming his hands down on the table. 

Iwaizumi Hajime just grins and takes another sip of his drink while his best friend glares daggers at him. “I told you someone was gonna get you with that draw four.”

“But then everyone stacked them up and I have to take,” Oikawa tallies up the numbers, “twenty cards! That’s super mean, Iwa-chan!”

Iwaizumi shrugs in response. Game night at Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s apartment is brutal—especially when it comes to Uno. Iwaizumi always made it his personal mission to have Oikawa wind up with half the deck in his hands, and more often than not he succeeded. Tonight’s game would be no different.

Oikawa grumbles, swearing revenge under his breath, and draws his cards, much to the amusement of his former teammates. He tries to sneak a few back into the deck, but Yahaba catches him. “Ah, ah, ah,” he tuts and wags his finger at him. “Twenty cards, Oikawa, and not one less.”

“Can’t you be nice to your senpai, Yahaba?” Oikawa huffs, taking the extra cards. “I was going to teach you my special move, but now I don’t think I will!”

“Quit being so petty, Trashykawa.” Iwaizumi cuffs him, but his tone is light and he gives him a grin afterwards.

“Iwa-chan is bullying me!” he whines and pulls away from Iwaizumi, his shoulder bumping against Matsukawa’s. Trying to be sneaky, he peeks at his friend’s cards and earns himself another smack upside the head. “Ow, Mattsun!”

“That’s what you get for trying to cheat.” Matsukawa lays down a reverse card and buries his hand in his lap, away from Oikawa’s prying eyes.

“Oh, my turn!” If there was anything good that came out of having half the deck in his hands, it was that Oikawa inevitably ended up with a handful of cards that were perfect for exacting his revenge. He eyes the draw-two card eagerly. It isn’t much, but he could buy himself some time with that. (Iwaizumi holds a mere three cards in his hand—the least of anyone at the table.) Besides, there’s no risk of it stacking all the way around the table, right?

He slaps the card down onto the pile with a triumphant grin on his face. “Ha! Take that, Iwa-chan!”

“Seriously? That’s the best you could do?” Iwaizumi rolls his eyes and lays down a draw-two card of his own. Oikawa pouts slightly, but the fact that Hanamaki is desperately rifling through his own cards is reassuring. The stacking will stop there, and he’ll get Iwaizumi the next round.

“Oh no, I dropped my cards,” Hanamaki wails dramatically and crawls under the table to retrieve them. When he pops back up, he’s holding a red draw-two card between his fingers. Oikawa’s smile falters. (No one seems to notice that Matuskawa has one less card.)

“Ah, I have one, too,” Yahaba exclaims, placing a blue draw-two card on top of the pile. 

Oikawa is starting to sweat a little. He turns to Matsukawa, and his stomach drops as he watches him drop a yellow draw-two card onto the pile. He shuffles through his hand—hands, rather, as it takes both of his to hold all twenty-eight of his cards—once, twice, thrice, searching desperately for another draw-two card. A drop of sweat rolls down his forehead. He doesn’t have another draw-two card. How the hell could he not have another draw-two card? He must be cursed.

“Problem?” Iwaizumi asks, a cheeky grin on his face.

“I hate you,” Oikawa responds, reaching towards the deck to draw ten more cards. “I hate you all.”

His friends merely laugh and continue the game. Naturally, Iwaizumi wins, and Oikawa comes in dead last with a grand total of forty-one cards in his hand, thanks to Matsukawa hitting him with one last draw-four.

“Let’s play something different, please!” Oikawa practically begs, gathering up all the Uno cards and shoving them in the box before someone can shuffle them for another round.

“Like what?” Hanamaki asks as he stands to go into the kitchen. “Oh, and do you want me to whip up a batch of the Makki Special?”

The room echoes with support and he gets to work. Oikawa is suddenly grateful that he’s the designated driver for Iwaizumi—Hanamaki’s alcoholic concoctions always left his head spinning after only a few sips. That, and they usually included an ungodly mix of whatever he could find in the fridge and cupboards. Oikawa wouldn’t be surprised if it was the gross combinations that made him nauseous instead of the hangover itself.

“You guys can join us,” Kindaichi offers from his spot on the couch, patting the spot to his right. 

“What game are you playing, Yuu-chan?” Oikawa almost trips over himself as he scrambles to get away from the table. He makes a mental note to stay away from card games for the next five years, _especially_ if Iwaizumi is playing with him.

“The king’s game.”

“Oh? Sounds fun! How do we play?” He plops down onto the couch on the left side of Kindaichi, and Kunimi hisses in protest to his legs being pinned by Oikawa’s (bony) butt. 

“Does anyone else want to play before I explain the rules?”

The rest of the boys move into the room, intrigued by the prospect of a new game. “We might as well all play,” Iwaizumi says and takes a seat on the floor, his shoulder brushing Oikawa’s knee. It makes his leg tingle at the contact, but he doesn’t pull away.

“Give me a sec, the drinks are almost done!” Hanamaki calls from the kitchen. Oikawa can hear him tearing through the cabinets, and he has the feeling this is going to be the wildest Makki Special to date. 

A minute later, Hanamaki strides into the room, a proud smile on his face and a tray filled with glasses in his hand. He sets it down on the coffee table and there’s a rush of hands grabbing for a glass. 

Oikawa peers over Iwaizumi’s shoulder to see what crazy concoction Hanamaki thought of this time. The drinks are a light orange and bubbly, and there’s something in the bottom of the glass that looks suspiciously like the sour gummy worms from the discount store. At least he didn’t put four-year-old skittles in this batch. “Hm, they actually look kind of drinkable this time, Makki. Good job!”

Iwaizumi stiffens, his shoulders tensing at the smoothness and closeness of Oikawa’s voice. Oikawa notices the change immediately and frowns slightly before leaning back, but not before catching a glimpse of pink dusting the tips of Iwaizumi’s ears.

“All of the Makki Specials are drinkable, Oikawa! You just can’t hold your liquor,” Hanamaki defends from where he sits on Matsukawa’s lap, using a point he _knows_ Oikawa can’t dispute. He flourishes his hand while doing so, slopping some of his drink onto his boyfriend. Matsukawa simply sighs in response, and takes a sip of his own drink.

“Okay, so here’s the rules!” Kindaichi interrupts. “Basically, we each draw a popsicle stick. All of them are numbered, except for one that has a crown. Whoever gets the stick with the crown is the king and can order the other players to do things. So, if I get the king, I can order number three and number five to give each other a high five.”

“How boring, Yuu-chan.” Oikawa pokes his side and grins mischievously. “Be more creative!”

_“Anyways,_ you get the point, right?” Kindaichi ignores him and looks around the room. The other boys nod and he holds out a fistful of popsicle sticks. “Alright, everyone draw your stick!”

Kunimi gets king first, and has number two and number five do a handstand. Under normal circumstances—as in, there are no Makki Specials involved—this would be an easy feat. Alas, Hanamaki has already downed two drinks and can barely walk in a straight line, so instead of doing a headstand, he ends up lying in a groaning heap on the ground. “My hip,” he whines, as Matsukawa tries to help him back up. “Kunimi made me break my hip.”

“What are you, a grandpa?”

“Issei, you never told me we had children!” he exclaims in response. It earns him an eye roll and a grunt, but he bounces back with an immediate, “We don’t? Well, let’s have some.”

“Gross,” Oikawa comments, watching Matsukawa yank his boyfriend’s hands out from under his shirt. He turns his attention back to where Iwaizumi is doing a perfect handstand in front of the TV.

Iwaizumi isn’t even wobbling; he’s perfectly balanced and supporting himself with his muscular arms. Oikawa should really look away, but Iwaizumi’s shirt has slipped and his abs are on display and he’d be damned if he let an opportunity to see them go to waste. 

See, Oikawa Tooru is head over heels for his best friend, and it’s really the most tortuous thing he has ever experienced. What if he does something that makes Iwaizumi hate him and he ends up ruining the friendship they had carefully maintained for twenty-three years? What if Iwaizumi catches Oikawa staring at his broad shoulders and tracing his muscular back with his eyes the next time he steps out of their shared bathroom with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist? What if Iwaizumi starts to question his lingering touches and requests to cuddle on the couch in their apartment?

In other words, what if Oikawa lets his love get in the way of their friendship? And that is why Oikawa stays silent—but he takes the opportunities he is given to show affection and admire his best friend’s physique.

Someone whistles and Iwaizumi flushes cherry red before flopping onto the ground. He tugs his shirt back down and the spell is broken, leaving a pout on Oikawa’s lips and knowing grins on everyone else’s faces. 

The tasks completed, Kindaichi gathers up the sticks again and the boys draw from his hand. This time Yahaba claims the crown, and he takes a moment to come up with a command. “Uh, number six and number three need to swap shirts. Actually, no, keep them off.”

“Wow, Yahaba, you got lucky,” Oikawa teases as Kyoutani strips his shirt off.

“Shut up!”

Matsukawa heaves a sigh and, to the absolute delight of Hanamaki, tugs his shirt up over his head. “Dammit, Hiro,” he says, smacking his hands away, “keep your hands to yourself!”

The antics continue for a few more rounds—Oikawa does the splits, Kindaichi and Kunimi perform a slurred rendition of Jingle Bells, Iwaizumi and Kyoutani arm wrestle—but it all changes when Hanamaki gets to be king. He’s smiling, which is scary, and he’s definitely tipsy, which is even scarier. Downing the rest of his drink and turning to face the group with a devilish glint in his eye, he gives the order he had been saving since the beginning. “Number one and number four have to do seven minutes of heaven.”

Well, that certainly escalated quickly.

There’s a light murmur in the room as everyone checks their sticks. Oikawa’s heart tightens as he realizes the number one stick is clenched in his palm. He forgets how to breathe when Iwaizumi holds up his own stick, a large number four written on the end in black sharpie.

Hanamaki is cackling and everyone else is sending smirks their way. Oikawa is trying not to die, but he can already feel the blush spreading across his cheeks and the knots in his stomach tightening. Iwaizumi doesn’t say a word, but his silence is only exaggerating the panic welling up inside Oikawa.

“Well, come on you two,” Hanamaki says between giggles. He stumbles towards them on wobbly legs and grabs their hands, leading them towards the coat closet near the entrance of the apartment. “Rules are rules, and I’m the one making them!”

Oikawa expects Iwaizumi to speak up about how ridiculous this is, to put up some sort of a fight. Instead, he lets Hanamaki pull him along, going so far as to reach out and steady him when he nearly trips.

Seeing how Iwaizumi isn’t doing anything about the predicament they are about to find themselves in, Oikawa decides to take matters into his own hands. “Wait, isn’t this a little much?” he exclaims, trying to tug his wrist free. It’s to no avail; even when he’s drunk, Hanamaki has an iron grip. “You know what seven minutes of heaven is, right Makki?”

“Of course!” Hanamaki whirls to face him and would’ve fallen flat on his face if Iwaizumi hadn’t caught him. “Are you scared, Oikawa?”

“No.” And it’s the truth. He’s not scared—he’s freaking terrified.

Hanamaki’s grin widens as he throws open the closet door. “Here we go! Home sweet home!”

The first thing Oikawa notices is the space—rather, the lack thereof. Jampacked with coats and jackets, the closet looks like it barely has room for a scarf, let alone two fully grown men. Hanamaki seems to realize this, and he grabs an armful of coats to make room, dumping them unceremoniously in a heap on the floor.

“Alright, in you go!” He pushes them forward and Oikawa squawks when his head smacks against the shelf. Iwaizumi gets shoved in behind him, and then they’re lost in darkness as Hanamaki shuts the door. “Have fun!”

Oikawa jumps violently when the lock clicks in place and Hanamaki walks away. Iwaizumi hisses at his sudden movement under his breath. “Watch it, Trashykawa!”

“Sorry, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa has hangers digging into his back and his face is squished up against the shelf. He can almost feel Iwaizumi’s breath on his collarbone, _he’s that close,_ and it sends a shiver down his spine. He tries to wiggle around to find a more comfortable position—preferably one that didn’t have him pressed up against his best friend in all the wrong places—but Iwaizumi stops him immediately.

“Oh my g—Oikawa _stop moving!”_

Oikawa freezes the moment he feels hands grasping his hips. The temperature in the tiny closet seems to skyrocket. “S-Sorry.”

“Just, ugh,” Iwaizumi sighs in exasperation. “Just give me a second to move.”

Oikawa doesn’t trust his voice enough to speak and holds as still as possible while Iwaizumi maneuvers around him. Even then, they can’t put more than a couple centimeters of space between them, and Iwaizumi is forced to slip one of his legs between Oikawa’s, their knees bumping together. He still has one hand loosely resting on his hip, and his breath is fanning over his collarbone in short, hot waves.

It hasn’t even been thirty seconds and Oikawa is already about to lose his cool. He’s thankful for the darkness of the closet that hides the undeniable blush he knows he’s sporting. Although, they’re close enough that Iwaizumi can probably feel the heat radiating off of his skin.

Normally, Oikawa wouldn’t be so tense about being close to Iwaizumi. But, standing here in a dark closet, with their bodies almost flush against each other and the words ‘seven minutes in heaven’ hanging over his head, it’s all he can do to keep his heart from beating out of his chest. He counts in his head to keep himself sane. 

_Thirty. Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three. Thirty_ —

“Sorry about this,” Iwaizumi murmurs after a few seconds of awkward silence.

“Oh, it’s fine, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa chirps, trying to mask his panic with a cheery tone. “It’s almost like we’re cuddling, so it’s okay!”

“That’s not…” Iwaizumi trails off. Oikawa squints to see in the darkness, and nearly jerks back when he finds himself staring right into Iwaizumi’s dark green eyes.

“Uh, Iwa-chan?”

Hot breath leaves a trail of fire down his cheek and onto his neck. Hair tickles his nose. “What?”

“W-What are you doing?” Oikawa hates how choked his voice sounds, but it’s impossibly hard to speak when Iwaizumi is _right there_.

“Following the rules.”

His breath hitches when he feels Iwaizumi’s lips brush the sensitive skin of his neck. The hand on his hip tightens and Oikawa is finding it very difficult to breathe. “Iwa—”

Iwaizumi effectively shuts him up by pressing kisses along his jawline, reveling in the way Oikawa gasps and grabs at his shoulders.

His brain catches up and Oikawa pushes Iwaizumi back as far as he can. “Iwa-chan, you’re drunk. You aren’t thinking straight.”

“Damn right I’m not thinking straight,” Iwaizumi growls in response. He runs his free hand up Oikawa’s arm, letting it come to a rest over his collarbone. “And I’m not drunk, either.”

Internally, Oikawa knows it’s true because it takes more than a few drinks—even if they are the incredibly potent Makki Specials—to get Iwaizumi drunk. But the implications of him _willingly_ touching Oikawa are too preposterous to comprehend, and it leaves him feeling confused. “Then why…?”

“It’s because I—” he stops himself, removing his hand from Oikawa’s collarbone and rubbing his face.

“Iwa-chan?”

Iwaizumi sighs deeply, and all the tension leaves his body in that single breath. He caresses Oikawa’s cheek with a feather light touch, as though he fears Oikawa might crumble in his hands. “Because…I like you.”

“Aw, Iwa-chan!” Oikawa coos and pats Iwaizumi’s shoulders. His heart is beating like crazy, but he tells himself that he doesn’t mean it _that way._ He couldn’t. “I like Iwa-chan, too!”

“Oikawa.” Iwaizumi’s gaze pierces through the darkness, sending a shiver down his spine. His shoulders have stiffened beneath Oikawa’s hands and the hand on his cheek slides down to the nape of his neck. “I mean I like you more than friends.”

“Oh,” Oikawa whispers, because his brain is still short-circuiting from the kisses and he’s too shocked to say anything that’s not monosyllabic.

“Is that all you have to say?” Iwaizumi asks, and it comes out sharper than he intended, but he doesn’t bother correcting his tone.

“You’re being serious, right? This isn’t a joke?”

Iwaizumi sighs and rubs circles against Oikawa’s hip, his thumb leaving a trail of fire in its wake. “Would I really joke about something like this?”

“N-No.” Oikawa’s hands spasm against Iwaizumi’s broad shoulders.

“So, what are we gonna do about it?”

Oikawa takes a moment to gather his thoughts, but the way Iwaizumi is touching him is making it ridiculously difficult. He wishes he had one of those Makki Specials; he could really use some liquid courage. Finally, throwing caution to the wind, he leans forwards and whispers, “I…I really like Iwa-chan, too.”

“Good.”

And then Iwaizumi’s lips are pressing against his, gently, carefully, but undeniably firm. Oikawa melts into the kiss, his hands sliding up to cup Iwaizumi’s face and pulling him closer. 

They break apart long enough to inhale sharply, and then Iwaizumi is kissing him again, with more fervor then before. It’s all he can do to stay upright, especially when the hand on his hip glides up to brush against his skin.

Oikawa gasps against his mouth and Iwaizumi takes the opportunity to catch Oikawa’s bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling it gently while trembling hands tug him even closer. 

Oikawa feels lightheaded when they separate again. He’s still trying to convince himself that this isn’t some sort of fever dream, that it’s _real_ and happening _right now._ “Iwa-chan…”

“Sorry, was that too m—”

“Shut up and kiss me,” Oikawa whines, bumping their noses together and swiping his thumbs across Iwaizumi’s cheeks. He doesn’t have to ask twice.

A growl rumbles in Iwaizumi’s throat as he pushes him back against the closet wall. He pins him there with the hand on his hip and trails kisses from his lips along his jaw and down his neck. Oikawa writhes beneath him, his hands tangling in the hair at the base of his neck and his hips jolting with every kiss. The soft skin along his collarbone tastes like pure sin to Iwaizumi, and he can’t seem to get enough of it.

“I-Iwa-chan,” Oikawa stutters out between gasps. His head is cloudy and his whole body is tingling, as though every single nerve in his body was responding to Iwaizumi’s touch like it was a lightning strike.

“‘Kawa,” Iwaizumi says his name like a prayer, and maybe it is one. He raises the leg he has between Oikawa’s just enough to elicit a sharp gasp that quickly turns into a low groan. He swallows the sound with a kiss and slides his hand further up Oikawa’s shirt.

Iwaizumi is pushing up his shirt with one hand to trace along his lithe torso while the other glides down to squeeze the back of his thigh. When he lifts Oikawa’s leg to rest against his own hip, Oikawa lets out a moan that allows Iwaizumi to slip his tongue into his mouth.

The ‘seven minutes’ part of the game is long forgotten by now—it never stood a chance against the desire that is coursing through their veins and sending shivers down Oikawa’s spine. And the way Iwaizumi is kissing him certainly doesn’t help. Oikawa, who had acquired a great deal of practice, finally gives up control to Iwaizumi and lets him dominate the kiss.

Pleased with his victory, Iwaizumi rolls his hips against Oikawa. The action draws another groan from him and Iwaizumi can’t help but smirk. He nips Oikawa’s lips one last time before sliding his tongue down Oikawa’s neck to taste the skin of his collarbone again. The sweetness is far too intoxicating to resist.

“Iwa-chan!” Oikawa whines as Iwaizumi sucks on a particularly sensitive spot. His hips jerk forward, searching for friction, and they moan in tandem when he finds it. 

Oikawa cards his fingers through his hair and fists Iwaizumi’s shirt near the small of his back, wanting him closer, _closer,_ **_closer_ **—

The closet door is thrown open, bathing the two of them in light.

“Alright, time’s u-” Hanamaki breaks off in a horrified scream.

(Oikawa was a few seconds from screaming himself, for an entirely different reason.)

“Oh my god, they actually _went for it,”_ Matsukawa says in disbelief, peering over his boyfriend’s shoulder. He grins at the sight of their flushed faces, swollen lips, and disheveled clothes. “Having fun?”

“Shut up!” Iwaizumi hisses, moving to block Oikawa from view. But he’s not quick enough, because Hanamaki has recovered enough to notice the red and purple marks blooming along Oikawa’s collarbone and neck.

“Woah, Iwaizumi! Nicely done!” He claps him on the back and gets whacked upside the head in return. “I always knew you had it in you!”

Oikawa is doing his best to lower his heart rate and steady his breathing, but he’s annoyed at having been so rudely interrupted just when things were getting good. There’s too much fire running through his veins to feel embarrassed at being caught with his leg slung over Iwaizumi’s hip and his shirt almost completely off, so he manages to shoot Hanamaki and Matsukawa a nasty glare without needing to compose himself. “Do you mind?”

“Yes, actually. I don’t want you two canoodling in my coat closet!” Hanamaki exclaims, and laughs echo from the living room.

“This was your idea,” Iwaizumi reminds him, slowly releasing his grip on Oikawa’s leg and tugging his shirt back down.

“I didn’t think you two would actually play along! Besides,” Hanamaki waves his hand and wobbles forward, “watching you two pine for each other is waaaay worse than having to see this!” He steps back and latches onto Matsukawa before adding, “Although, it looks kinda fun. We should try it sometime.”

Matsukawa merely shrugs, but Oikawa catches the tiny curl of his lips and the keen interest in his eyes. “Gross. Now, if you’ll excuse us,” he saunters out of the closet, Iwaizumi in tow, “Iwa-chan and I are going home!”

“Thank _god_. I don’t know what I would do if I had to hear you whine, ‘Iwa-chan!’ one more time,” Yahaba yells from the living room, earning another round of laughter and snickers.

“Mean!” Oikawa responds instinctively and tightens his grip on Iwaizumi’s forearm. “Come on, Iwa-chan. We have a lot to discuss.”

Matsukawa snorts. _“Discuss.”_

Oikawa sticks his tongue out at him for good measure. Iwaizumi rolls his eyes, clearly wanting to get out of there quickly so they could finish their ‘discussion.’ He slips into the living room—hyper-aware of all the eyes following his every move—grabs their jackets, waves a goodbye, and promptly drags Oikawa out the door before their friends’ catcalls can get any louder.

Needless to say, they spend the rest of the evening ‘discussing’ things. 

Later, Oikawa tucks himself into Iwaizumi’s side, tracing shapes on his tanned skin that seems to glow in the moonlight and pulling the sheets farther over their bodies. He can feel the steady beat of his heart beneath his finger tips, and it makes Oikawa feel a rush of gratitude for those blessed seven minutes of heaven that started it all off. “Hey, Iwa-chan?”

“Hmm?” Iwaizumi’s chest vibrates beneath him as he hums in response.

“Remind me to thank Hanamaki. I really liked my seven minutes of Iwa-chan,” he purrs, propping his chin up on his bare chest. 

“Really?”

“Yeah, it was pretty okay.”

“Trashykawa.”

“Mean, Iwa-chan, mean!”

“It was a lot more than seven minutes anyways,” Iwaizumi huffs, tilting his head forward and pressing a languid kiss against Oikawa’s temple. 

Oikawa nuzzles into him, entangling their legs in the sheets and curling around him even more. “We should try it again sometime. I’ll empty my closet if I have to.”

_“Oikawa.”_

“I don’t think Makki and Mattsun will let us borrow their coat closet next time.”

“Next time, huh?” Iwaizumi raises his eyebrow.

“Well, yeah. I told you, I liked my seven minutes of Iwa-chan.”

“Good,” Iwaizumi murmurs, his pupils blown wide as they trace the marks he had made on Oikawa’s neck and chest. They look like red and purple flower petals, blooming beautifully against his pale skin—enchanting. “Because I think I’ll be giving you seven more minutes in the future.”

Oikawa grins cheekily and sits up, planting his hands on either side of Iwaizumi’s face. His eyes gleam in the dark and his voice is dripping with desire as he asks, “Why wait?”

Iwaizumi smiles in response. Oikawa ends up getting a whole lot more than seven minutes of Iwa-chan that night, and he can’t complain in the least.

**Author's Note:**

> Emi Anecdote:  
> Well, this idea came to me almost a month ago and I was honestly gonna write it immediately, but then my brain said, "Wait, here's another idea, and another idea, and another idea, and an-" and well, you get the point. Then, a few days ago, I sat down and made a poll. This one won. I wrote it in five hours. Cam yelled at me because I was up until 5am, but I got it written up so that's a win for me!  
> Also, I still can't believe I wrote this. I never thought I'd see the day where I wrote a spicy fic purely for the spice, but here we are. Iwaoi just does that to people, huh? RIP


End file.
